


Nowhere to Go but Up

by EchoFlora (orphan_account)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/EchoFlora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out becoming an actor on the surface is harder than in the Underground.  Everyone has to work, though.  Even if that means going back to basics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere to Go but Up

Acting.

 

That was his dream.

 

As a young monster, people could tell what he wanted to be when he grew up, whether it be by the number of posters on his walls or hours spent in front of the television. He didn’t necessarily take any classes, but Mettaton was Underground’s one true star. He didn’t see how difficult it would be to one day work with him. It wasn’t like there was a lot of competition in that aspect. The robot could be found on practically every channel, and at times he wondered how he could run for so long. In the end, he never questioned it for too long because how could you question what made Mettaton click?

 

Eventually, that was all Burgerpants could do.

 

Nineteen-years-old, and he already wasted his life. Stuck in a too bright shop in a too bright lobby, he most of his time spent making burgers out of sequins and glue while making sure the damn face steaks didn’t have a mistake. He never wanted to hear the word “sparkle” again if he could help it, but if that’s what it took to keep him from being a starving artist (emphasis on starving,) then he’d just have to suck it up, and listen to his boss play that CD album when he screwed up. 

 

Nothing ever changed, and if it did it was just another bad choice in a labyrinth of others. The only sole thing he had to look forward to was that last SOUL. Asgore just needed that one, final SOUL. It’d be a whole new world. Food that didn’t sparkle, less rectangular robots, and not more Hotland in general. There was no where to go but up. Literally. He hoped that up there his second change to make it big, to not waste anymore years.

\---

It turned out becoming an actor on the surface was even harder than the Underground. Sure, his first problem was MTT pretty much monopolizing the Underground, but the surface had the exact opposite problem. So many wannabes, so little slots. Even as a monster, something that caught a lot of attention nowadays, he still couldn’t land even a damn commercial. So “going up,” ended up being only literally, and his only choice seemed to be flipping burgers. Though at that rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if he got rejected for that too. 

 

He had one last, glimmer- (No. Not glimmer. No more glimmer, glamour, or any of that.) He had one last piece of hope left.

 

He stood outside the building, staring holes into the “For Hire” sign in the window. Grillby’s still had burgers to flip, but as far as he knew, that wasn’t all there was to it. He remembered the original in Snowdin, and though he never went that far out himself, he couldn’t see how it could be worse than working for Mettaton. Knowing his luck, those words would bite him in the ass. With a huff of a sigh, he pulled up the door and stepped inside. 

 

The first thing he noticed was a faint smoky smell, and as he neared the bar in the back, he also began to notice the wood floors, wood doors…

It wasn’t hard to notice those things with a fire elemental behind the bar. Sure, if the whole place were to burn to the ground it probably would have already. He had been witness to enough fires and explosions in his life when it came to work, though. He hated many things about Mettaton. The TV constantly playing MTTN that he couldn’t ever get to stay off was one of those things.

 

Broad, fake smile in place, he approached the counter. Before he could even open his mouth, the skeleton on the stool beside him turned to him with a grin.

 

“Oh hey, Burgerpants. Long time no see.”

 

His own smile stiffened even more as he looked pointedly down at the other. 

 

Oh, he remembered that guy. He was the only one who ever got listed by name on the restaurant entertainment poster. Sans. 

 

“Yeah it has!” Thank god for his worthless acting.

 

The element behind the counter set his cloth to the side and looked down at Sans, or at least looked like he was.

 

“..... .. … …… ….. …. .. … …..”

 

If he listened hard enough, he might have been able make out soft words amongst the crackling as the flame spoke.

 

Sans waved a hand dismissively. “Then give ‘em a new nametag. It’d probably look weird if he had a MTT one.”

 

At those words, Burgerpants subtly knocked on the wood paneling of the bar, mind racing with hopes that this would be his new way of going up.

 

\---

 

Grillby wasn’t like Mettaton. That much anyone could tell at a glance, but he couldn’t stop adding more reasons to the ever growing list in his mind.

 

Grillby served real food. That in itself was a huge step up. Nothing sparkled, only shined a bit with grease, just how the customers liked it, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t either. The burgers were thick and savory, the fries nice and crisp. The one shake he bought on his off time was worth every second of brainfreeze. 

 

Grillby also didn’t yell and not just because he couldn’t talk loud. He certainly never played a damn CD telling him how much he sucked at his job either. That part in and of itself was great. Whenever he made a mistake and couldn’t sweep it under the rug quick enough, his boss would make sure he had it under control before leaving him to it. No snide remarks, no demands, no nothing. Just a sort of… Understanding. He kept waiting for his boss to snap at him one day, but it never seemed to happen.

 

It took time for him to understand Grillby fluently enough. He didn’t know sign language which might have been why his boss didn’t use it too much around him. When he did try to speak, he tried to do so slowly. Orders, now more like instructions, were kept short and simple. After a couple weeks of working, he managed to pick up on a few signs. For someone without a real distinguishable face, Grillby seemed a bit surprised when he signed out, ‘Thanks, boss,’ one evening.

 

“Hey, little buddy.” 

 

Frisk smiled up at him as they climbed up on the stool. They paused for a moment before leaning halfway over the counter to get a better look. Seeming satisfied, they settled back down on their seat with a nod.

 

“Hi, Craig.”

 

One of the best things Grillby did for him, though, was give him a name tag. Never once did he call him Burgerpants. No one new called him Burgerpants. Even people who remembered him from the Underground started to stop calling him Burgerpants. 

 

They tilted their head, their smile brightening, “You look happy.”

 

Craig chuckled with a crooked grin, “It’s like I told you, Frisk. Nowhere to go but up.”


End file.
